Friday the 13th
by JantoJones
Summary: It's all in the title. (rated for a couple of naughty words)


Toshiko and Gwen arrived at the tourist information office together. Tosh tried to push open the door but found it locked.

"Ianto must be down in the hub," she said to Gwen as she keyed her pass number into the security panel. When they got to the hub though, they found only Jack.

"Where's Ianto?"

"He's not in yet," Jack told them. "The guy has never been late in his life; I reckon we can allow him one late day."

"It's still weird though," replied Gwen, "And, it's Friday the 13th."

Jack looked at her incredulously.

"You don't honestly believe in superstition?"

"Not really, but you never know."

He shook his head at the madness of it and went to make them all a coffee. Just because he was the boss didn't mean he could get out of it. Besides, he was thirsty.

Jack came back a few minutes later with three mugs of coffee and handed them round. Tosh had just taken a sip of hers, when her computer beeped a message. A translation program she had been running all night was almost complete. She put her coffee down but wasn't taking as much notice as she should have been. The mug slipped and the coffee spilled everywhere. Tosh managed to jump out of the way of it but unfortunately, her computers weren't as lucky. Some of the hot liquid seeped into the keyboards, frying them. The rest flowed down the power cables and fused her workstation. Luckily, the hub had an automatic cut-off which prevented a cascade failure and only Tosh's station was affected.

"Shit!" she exclaimed. "It'll take ages to fix that.

"You see Jack, Friday the 13th."

"Come off it Gwen," the Captain scoffed. "It was a simple accident, which could have happened at any time.

Fifteen minutes later, Tosh was beginning her repairs, Jack was in his office and Gwen was at her workstation. There was still no sign of Ianto. They all looked to the door when Owen appeared. He was limping badly.  
"My God Owen, what happened?" asked Tosh.

Apart from the limp, Owen had a cast on his left arm and was wearing a neck brace.

"Some Tosser ran into the back of my car. He broke my wrist, jarred my knee and gave me suspected whiplash."

Jack emerged from his office, looking concerned.

"You shouldn't be at work."

Owen waved him away with his good arm.

"I'm okay," he protested. "I just can't do the physical stuff for a while. Bloody Friday the 13th."

Jack threw his arms up in exasperation. He couldn't believe his team were so susceptible to primitive superstition.

"It's a coincidence. You should all be used to strange happenings, working for Torchwood."

It was then Ianto entered. They almost didn't recognise him in the jeans and t-shirt he was wearing. His hair was dishevelled and there were dark circles under his eyes, indicating a lack of sleep.

"The flat next to mine caught fire," he said, in response to everyone's questioning looks. "Luckily, no-one was hurt."

"So, what's with the casual?" Jack asked him. "Not that I'm complaining."

Ianto looked down at himself, as though he'd forgotten what he was wearing.

"Oh, the fire bled through into my bedroom somehow. I lost all my clothes apart from these."

Ianto was shaking slightly with shock. Jack led him to the sofa, asking Tosh to get the archivist a cup of tea along the way.

While Jack and Tosh fussed over Ianto, Gwen's phone rang. She spent thirty seconds rooting around in her bag before she found it. The caller ID told her it was Rhys.  
"Hi Babes," she greeted. "You're kidding...Do you think it'll clear up by tomorrow?...No, its okay...I don't mind Sweetheart...I still have the weekend off...Okay, see you later...I Love you too."

"Problem?" Owen asked her.

"Rhys has food poisoning so we can't go away like we'd planned."

"Friday the 13th strikes again," mumbled Owen.

"Oh, don't you start." Jack grumbled. "Okay, so there's been a lot of bad luck today, but you can't blame the date for that. It's all coincidental."

He'd had enough of all the stupid superstition, so went to his office to get away from it. As he walked through the door, Jack somehow managed to trip on his own feet. He stumbled forward, flailing out his hands in an effort to grab something to stop his fall. Unfortunately, his hands found the coatrack and his beloved greatcoat. His fall continued, with his coat clenched in his fists. The sound of the fabric tearing was one of the worst things Jack had ever heard. He ended up in a heap with two halves of coat.

"Fucking Friday the 13th!"


End file.
